


You Gonna Say It?

by GhostCrumpet



Series: Taserbones [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Civil War doesn't happen, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Flogging, Forced Orgasms, HEA, HYDRA Trash Party, Happily Ever After, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Spanking, Pet Play, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shaving Kink, The Asset - Freeform, There is a happily ever after though, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2018-10-02 03:09:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 27
Words: 8,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10208117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostCrumpet/pseuds/GhostCrumpet
Summary: Set during CA:TWS. Brock Rumlow gets his hands in Darcy Lewis, who happens to be Captain America's girlfriend. Warning: non-con, dark!fic. Not Brock redemption.(As impossible as it may seem, this WILL have a happy ending.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of prompts from porn blog gifs I keep getting. This is not a redemption fic in the slightest. This is dark, and awful, and sad.
> 
> There will be no things like mutilation/permanent bodily harm. Stuff like slapping, spanking, minor flogging (no blood-letting), and general mild sexual BDSM stuff are on the table however. Taunting/humiliation are probably going to be on the docket as well.

“Just like that,” Brock said softly, running his hands through her wet hair. Her curls were lank and sticking to her bare skin as she mouthed along the length of his cock. His thumb came up to smear her mascara further down her cheek.  
  
What could he say, he was into the tear-stained look. It did things for him. Just like her hot little tongue was doing things for him.  
  
He fisted his fingers in her hair as she went deep down onto him, and she made a soft huffing noise when he pressed her further, her eyes widening in panic.  
  
“You gonna say it?” he asked, teasing two fingers down her nose, threatening to cut off her last source of air. She choked for a moment and then nodded, a quick jerk of her chin. He let her pull back, his smirk spreading wide as she looked down at the floor of the shower and mumbled,  
  
“Hail Hydra.”


	2. Razorsharp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaving-kink.

She heard the door to the apartment open with a bang, and then the thud of his boots hitting the floor. There was quiet, and her jaw ached around the padded bit-gag, her breath coming out harsh as it sped up. The bathroom door kicked open and she shuddered, looking up at him from between strands of her hair where it clung to her face, dirty and clumping.

"Hey there, Kitten," Brock said with a smirk. He tossed something at her, and it hit her in the face even as she winced away. She looked at it when it landed besides where her knees were folded up on the tile. A packet of pink razors, the cheap, dollar-store kind. "I know Cap's old-fashioned and all, but not shaving is just fuckin' lazy. I'm gonna untie you, and you're going to tidy up downstairs. Maybe we'll take a few pictures to send him, even."

He reached for her arms and cut the zipties that fastened her to the wall-bar, but left the ones around her ankles. He nicked the strap around her knees and pulled it off of her. She moaned as she shifted, muscles hurting from being held in the same position for far too long. He reached for her gag and undid it, catching the pink leather in one hand.

"Didn't make a peep all day, did you Darlin'?" he asked. Even though she was free to speak, she shook her head, and reached with shaking hand for the packet of razors. He produced a warm, wet washcloth and a can of shaving cream. "Get on the toilet," he said, eyes heated with want and arousal. It made her sick. Her stomach turned over and she slowly pulled herself up to sit on the closed toilet lid, and opened the razor packet slowly. She was cold, and clumsy from being on the tile all day.

Just do the next thing, she told herself. Open the packet. Pull out a razor, flick the safety off of it. Bile rose in her throat and she swallowed it down. He got down on his knees, putting a palm on each of her thighs, and pushed them open. She inhaled when he pressed the washcloth against her pussy, and tried not to make a noise when he rubbed it over her a little  _too_ hard, a little too rough.

"You're gonna shave nice and slow, and let me watch," he said as he grabbed her palm and sprayed a layer of shaving cream into it. A tear tracked down her cheek and she swallowed hard.


	3. Weekend Warrior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Anal-only - https://68.media.tumblr.com/a6b08c88fd74ae3479956162e7f49d82/tumblr_mummjllRvr1sb3a5ao1_r1_500.gif

She felt him, hard and heavy, right along the small of her back. His arm wrapped around her front, stroking his fingers over her lips.  
  
"Suck," he ordered, and she obediently opened her mouth, tucking her tongue over her lower teeth. He hated feeling teeth. She sucked on his three fingers for a long minute, and then he kissed her earlobe. "It's Saturday morning," he said, his voice a low burr in his chest. He nudged her knees apart, and she found herself automatically slipping her foot behind his calf, parting her legs for him, tilting her hips forward. His cold fingers found her clit for a bare moment and then paused. "It's Saturday."

"Yessir," Darcy said dully, and then shuddered when he skipped his fingers down further, past her entrance, his other hand pulling apart her ass cheeks.

"Weekends are anal-only, remember?" he said. His thumb slipped over the tight, puckered entrance and she buried her face in her arm when he rubbed there in a slow, teasing circle. "If you can't come from this, Babe, you don't get to come at all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note, this shit is hard and heavy to write, so if you want more, I'd kindly ask you to comment with a prompt. It's cathartic but yeah, I deffo need the cheerleading.


	4. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brock has some words of support for Steve.

"Still no word?" Brock asked as he looked over Steve's shoulder. There was a picture of her, pinned to the inside of Steve's locker. Darcy Lewis, laughing into the camera, her hair in wild curls around her, boots up to her thighs, a pretty dress clinging to her curves. Steve was in the photo too, arm wrapped around her shoulders, smiling down at her with a totally  _gone_ expression on his face.

Brock had photos of Darcy, but none of them were like this. She was rarely smiling. She was rarely clothed. She was usually on her hands and knees, lips parted in a half-hearted plea as she tried to beg him to stop whatever he was doing to her at the time. His loins burned at the thought.

Steve slammed the locker door shut, his shoulders slumped.

"No," he said, in a quiet voice. "Nothing."

"You two were only dating for what.... four weeks? Maybe she ghosted you?" Brock hitched his towel around his waist tighter to hide the erection. Steve turned to look at him, confusion on his face.

"Ghosted?"

"Girls. They stop calling... change their number sometimes, pretend you don't exist. It's an easy way, for them, to dump you. Ghosting. Fade out of your life, like they never existed." Brock leaned back against the bank of lockers. Steve's eyes wandered away, looking at something that wasn't there. Then he shook his head.

"I... I just don't think she'd do that," he said, his words soft, an edge of hurt there, an edge of  _doubt_.

 _C'mon,_ Brock thought,  _she vanished on you... you still think you're five-foot-three and weigh nothin'... pretty girl like that? She's too good for you, Rogers... and you know it..._

Steve swallowed hard, his throat going tight.

"I gotta go," he said abruptly, and left. Brock could practically hear the self doubt dragging along behind the other man.


	5. Picture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brock has some words for Darcy.

"He took down the picture of you in his locker today," he said into her hair. She made a soft noise, her hand going to his wrist and  _clinging_ there tight as he rubbed in slow, uneven circles on her pussy over her clit. Not directly on it, nah, she was too sensitive for that right then, since he'd made her come just minutes before. He had her in the soft handcuffs, little fur wristlets really, that connected to the leash around her neck. He licked up the side of her neck, relishing in the way she shivered. "Think you can come again?"

"Please, no," Darcy whispered, her head hanging down. He'd let her wash it the day before, and it was snarled from where she hadn't been able to comb it out.

"I told him you didn't want him," he said into her temple, wrapping her up tight in his arms as he continued to rub her outer folds slowly, deeply. Her hips strained, pulling away from his touch as much as they could on the downstroke, where she was most sensitive. "I told him... you just ghosted. He didn't know what that meant, didn't  _get_ that reference."

She whimpered and he hooked his fingers through her folds, dragging the nail flat against her clit. Her whimper turned into a shriek and her hips jerked hard. He slapped her across the thighs and then spun her around, shoving her face-first into the mattress.

"I fuckin' told you not to pull away," he growled, and yanked the belt out of his jeans, doubling it over with a crack of leather. He pulled back his arm over his head and she shuddered, waiting for the strike against her ass.


	6. Asset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brock brings in a helping hand.

He's got dark hair, long. He's got empty blue eyes, and he seems to look right through her. He holds her thighs down, and Brock's got her by the wrists behind her back. She can't fight it, even though she's learnt not to bother. It only ends in pain, and being locked up it the bathroom with the light off and the AC on high.

"Lick her," Brock orders, and the Asset, that's what Brock called him, bends down, and licks. Right over her panties. It's dry, and rough. It doesn't even feel good, and she just stares at the part of his hair, the perfect straight line of it.

"You can do better than that," Brock says curtly, and the Asset tucks two fingers into the crotch of her underwear and pulls- they rip, and he shoves her thighs apart further, his breath hot on her skin. The he licks again, less mechanically, softer, his tongue flicking between her folds. He hits her clit, and she exhales, her muscles trembling under his fingers. Brock kisses the side of her face and she closes her eyes tight for a second.

"How's she taste?" Brock asks, and when the Asset pulls away to give a report, "Remember she's a  _lady_."

The man squints and then looks up at her, their gazes meeting like water on a hot pan. She bites her lip.

"Beautiful," the Asset says, and then bends down, to start up those little kitten flicks, a softness, a tenderness in his manner that has her arching into him after a few minutes.

"Make her come, cause her spangled boyfriend sure as shit never did," Brock says with a laugh.


	7. Whisper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's 95, not dead. But that's not what everyone else thinks...

Steve's not sure how the whispers started. He's tried to find the source of them, but come up empty handed. Nobody's talking, but everybody's whispering.

He can't please a girl. Can't keep a girl. Doesn't know how to kiss. Two left feet, a big dick, and no finesse. Super serum doesn't fix everything, and certainly didn't turn him into a casanova.

_Darce. Her fingers running down his back as he kissed up her neck. Her soft sighs. The way her hips arched up into his._

Nat says he should get out. Go on a date or two. Darcy probably didn't leave because he wasn't any good in bed, she was just a millenial kid. They're flighty. They go where the wind takes them. Maybe she lost his number.  
  
 _Her breasts were heavy in his hands, her nipples tight. She squirmed, grinding up to meet his cock with each thrust._

He did please her, he's sure of it. She'd tense up, she'd dig her nails into his back. He'd pleased her, hadn't he? Given to her like she'd given to him... right? They'd only, he'd only... made love to her a few times before she'd vanished into thin air.

The whispers don't get louder, but they're there, in the corners of the locker room, and he wonders if the way her hands bit into his spine... if it'd been his imagination, or if she'd just been faking it the whole time. He takes her photo down from his locker, but tucks it into his notebook instead. He doesn't want anyone seeing her, looking at her, thinking about his hands on her body and how he hadn't been man enough to make her stay.


	8. Easy, Pet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is on babysitting duty.

Jack stroked his fingers along her bare back, tangled them in her hair, then cupped the curve of her ass. The little kitten ears were crooked on her head, but he didn't mind, especially not when he could give the tail plug a good tug.

Darcy whimpered and squirmed for a moment, the bell on her collar ringing faintly. She fell still as he stroked his hand along the fluffy tail, the soft fur sliding between his fingers.

"Y'like that, Kitten?" he asked, and she froze, her head on his lap where he'd put her half hour before. He could feel the vague tremble in her shoulders. She hadn't answered him properly before, and he'd slapped her across the face - Brock would be a little bitch about the split lip but Jack figured Brock owed him for sticking him on Darcy-sitting duty.

She'd tried to slit her wrists a week back and Brock wasn't taking any chances with his little housepet. So while he was out on a mission with her former boyfriend, Jack got the joy of hanging out in Brock's shitty apartment. The perk was that he got to play, however he saw fit.

_No cutting her, nothing that'll last more than a few days. She better still have all her teeth when I come back._

Whatever, Brock, Jack thought as he slouched down against the cushions, cupping his hand over Darcy's breast and squeezing her nipple between his first and second fingers.


	9. Going Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things can't be wiped entirely clean.

He goes down for her. The Asset, that is. She knows he has another name because even if she's stuck in hell she's not stupid and she spent the entirety of 12th grade history doodling her first name with his last name. James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes. Alive, somehow, because  _just Hydra things_ , and in Brock's apartment.

Brock's been gone longer on the mission than expected and Jack brought the Asset over to play. Except now the Asset isn't cooperating. He won't slap her across the face with his metal arm like Jack told him to. He won't pin her down to the ground and choke her the way Jack ordered him to.

He won't rape her in the ass, dry, the way Jack ordered him to.

He just stands there, shoulders hunched, staring blankly at Jack and repeating the words  _ready to comply_ but he isn't. He isn't complying.

Darcy's curled up in the corner of the room, behind the arm of the couch, her hair in her face because maybe if she doesn't look at Jack he won't see her and he'll stop whaling on her every five minutes. Brock's a bastard. Jack's a monster, and she never thought she'd wish for Brock to come back but now she's  _wishing_ harder than she'd ever wished for anything in her life.

Especially when he orders the Asset down on his knees, and the Asset goes, and Jack forces his dick in his mouth and the Asset complies.

The programming is broken, but not all the way, Jack says on the phone fifteen minutes later, his breath heaving in his chest. No he can't bring him in for a wipe right goddamn now because of the  _girl_. Yeah, Brock's a fucking sap, what do you want?

Darcy's shoulders are shaking, and she's buried her face in the small space between her chest and her knees when she feels a soft touch on the top of her head. She jerks up, and the Asset, Bucky,  _James Barnes_ , is there, a small frown on his face and a washcloth in one hand. He wipes the dirt and makeup from her cheeks, washes away the tear tracks, and when Jack barrels back into the room, snarling for him to get away from the little slut, Bucky stands up and raises his arm, decking Jack and knocking him out cold.

Darcy holds her breath, and looks at the front door.


	10. Mission Report

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some bro-talk.

"I grabbed her by the hips, and she squealed so fuckin' loud-" Brock grinned and punched one of the other STRIKE team members in the shoulder as the man snickered and ducked his head. Past them, a few seats over, Rogers' head was held high, his shoulders stiff. Brock licked his lower lip, remember the first night he'd really gotten his hands on Rogers' girl.

_"He make you feel like this, Kitten?" he asked her, rubbing slow circles over her clit with the palm of his hand. Darcy tried not to shudder, tried not react to his touch. He dipped one finger, then two into her entrance and her back stiffened as she tried to squirm away from him._

_"Stop, please," she begged, not for the first time, and damn well not for the last. If he had his way she'd be saying those two words a lot over the next few days._

_"C'mon, Babe, tell me," he murmured into her ear, kissing down the side of her face as he slid his fingers in deep and crooked them. A lifetime of fingering pussy and getting girls off, both at work and on his own time, had him mapping her inner secrets in a matter of minutes. He had her number with one hooked index finger, and her breath was escaping her lips in short, heaving gasps in no time. "You be a good girl and tell me, and I won't force you to have the best orgasm of your little life right now."_

Rogers made a grunting noise as Brock elbowed another man and said

"Favorite thing about my girl is the little desperate noise she makes when I've got three fingers in her and she's only ready for two." Brock watched Rogers out of the corner of his eyes. Cap was a prude, didn't like it when women were 'disrespected', took an issue with it, but they were off the clock and Brock was gonna speak his mind. Especially cause he was describing  _Darcy_. Especially because Cap had no fuckin' clue what Darcy sounded like when she actually came.

_"No," she cried out, turning her head and hiding it in his neck, shuddering as he fingered her slowly, the heel of his palm rubbing slowly over her clit, peeling the hood of it back rough and hard._

_"No?" Brock asked, his voice even and steady as he kept it up, hitting her g-spot over and over until she clenched down hard on his fingers suddenly, and choked on her breath. "No he never made you come? No? He never did this for you? Just like that... first of many, Babe, first of many..."_

"Her last guy didn't do it for her. Told me she faked it for him every time, even when he went down on her. So I've made sure to show her exactly what a real man does when faced with a tight little cunt."

"Rumlow," Rogers snapped, twisting around in his seat, leveling a glare at him. "Mission is over, but we're still gentlemen. Keep that kind of talk for home." Then the man shifted back, staring straight ahead.


	11. Road Rash

The van was cold. It was old too, and smelled musty. She couldn't help but tuck her knees up under her chin and tug the sweatshirt down over her legs. The seatbelt pressed into her middle, but she ignored it. It was a mild annoyance, and given the scores of bruises up and down her body and the scrapes and cuts everywhere... it was nothing she couldn't handle. If anything, the last few... what, months? Months. The last few months had taught her: Darcy Lewis can  _handle_ anything.

Bucky, because she refused to call him the Asset because Hydra has taken everything from him it seemed like and she was gonna give it all back to him bit by bit, had his baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes as he drove. It hid his face in shadow, but meant she could better tell when he's looking at her- the peak of the cap kept shifting slightly.

When he checked on her for the fifth time since the little analog clock's minute hand had only moved a quarter, she finally spoke up,

"I'm fine," said her swollen and cracked lips, blood dried in the splits.

"Bullshit," he answered, and there's a hint of something choking up in the back of his throat. She looked away, out the window.

"Yeah... bullshit," she replied, swallowing a lump of tears.

_Jack had been gargling on his own blood. Bucky stood behind her as she shuddered and lowered the lamp._

_"Surgery'll fix you up, I'm sure," she said. She spat on him, turned, and vomited. Bucky grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her, and lifted her chin; he was right there with a bottle of water and a cloth. He took her by the hand and lead her outside, into the light. The sun hit her skin, and somewhere in a copse of trees a bird called out. She started to cry._

"Hungry?" Bucky asked, bringing her back to the highway, the van, the crumpled up fast-food wrappers that were rolling around in the footwell of the passenger side.

"No," she answered. His hat tilted, and stayed. He was staring at her. "... yeah..." she admitted, tugged the beanie cap he'd given her down on her ears, and buried her face in the tops of her knees.


	12. Deep Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve sees something he will never forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh ye of little faith. "how can you possibly make this a happily ever after ot3??!?! HOW!?"
> 
> Answer: no idea, but i'm figuring it out.
> 
> Also, have some Natasha.

It'd been a long time, but his body remembered what it was like.

The tight, itchy feeling in his lungs. How his chest felt heavy. His throat muscles getting stiff. The sensation of a walnut getting lodged at the back of his mouth. He'd had hundreds of asthma attacks before the serum hit his veins, but this was his first one post-supersizing.

He staggered to the side of the stairwell, a high-pitched noise filling his ears. When Natasha turned he realized  _he_ was making the sound as he struggled to breathe.

"Rogers!" She scrambled back down the stairs as he sagged, her hand pulling out a mask from her belt and quickly yanking it over her face. He couldn't get the words to tell her that it was fine, she was fine, that the air hadn't been compromised, that it was just  _him_ being weak. He clung to one railing, trying to get control back over his body, over his lungs.

His phone clattered to the ground, screen still open, and she glanced down at it. Her brow furrowed together, trying to make out the lines- it didn't take her long, and her face tilted back up, shock not even registering on her expression as her mouth and eyes settled into a hard mask instantly.

Natasha had seen the worst of human-kind. Just because she'd looked at a photo of his girlfriend months ago presumed dead, splayed out in a graphic position reserved for the dark recesses of the web, didn't mean she'd bat an eyelash. Right in front of him she shifted from concerned for him to ready for war. She fished his phone up off the floor, and was already in her comms, asking for a trace on the number that had texted it to him.

His chest felt like it was ripping open. _Darcy._

Darcy was alive.

She was alive, and she was hurting, and he'd let her go, and it was his fault.

He'd given up the fight all the while she didn't have the choice but to keep fighting. He choked and gasped for breath, sagging to his knees.


	13. Duck and Weave

She slept in the van, head pressed up against the seatbelt, her lips parted and the soft huff her breath just barely audible over the sound of the heating vents.

Bucky wanted to cradle her in his arms, run his fingers over her dirty, matted hair and tell her it was alright. It was just going to be alright. It'd be just fine. Something in her called to him: she was so lost and determined to act like she wasn't. She was stubborn, the set of her chin when he moved close to her and she froze up for a second then  _fought herself_ to not react like that, forced herself to relax. Hydra had stolen from her, just like it had plugged itself into his kidneys and leached away a piece of him that he could never get back.

He couldn't close his own eyes but for the movie reel of horror playing on the backs of his eyelids. Now a part of that horror featured her, prominently, in full colour, the sound of her soft, breathy cries, the salt-taste of her, how warm she'd been... he blinked the memories away with a faint hint of moisture. She'd been a bit of softness in the bleak landscape he'd lived in for seventy-odd years. Too bad none of it had been her choice. He was a damned monster. His left hand clicked quietly, rotors whirring as he felt the vibrating pull to press up against her cheek. He fought the urge, wrestled with it, until his hand clamped down on the steering wheel so hard that the plastic squeaked.

Darcy sat up like a rocket, breathing hard and staring straight ahead.

"It's... alright," he said, clearing his throat. "We're almost to a safe place."

She nodded once then slumped back against her seat, swallowing hard for air.

"Does this shit ever stop...?" She waved one hand in the air and then looked over at him.

"The driving?"

A small smile cracked across her face and he relished in it.

"No... the... nightmares, the... everything." Her fingers traced along the condensation of the passenger window. He cleared his throat.

"Don't know. Give me six months and I'll tell you."


	14. Blindsided

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve learns the hard way on trusting those who're supposed to have your back.

"Where's Fury?" Steve shoved his way into Pierce's office, bile in the back of his throat. Pierce's secretary was fluttering after him, her plaintive  _you can't go in there_ bouncing off of him like bullets off of his shield. Alexander Pierce looked up from his computer and tilted his head.

"Captain Rogers-"

"Don't," Steve bit out as he stalked towards the desk. He wanted answers, yesterday. "You said, Pierce, you  _said_ I was too high profile to look for her. That if something had happened to her, I was too... what was it? Flash and tinder? That I'd risk her life? You told me there were no leads after months, and that I'd better spend my time on the next mission than looking for Darcy Lewis. You said you had it handled. Does this look handled to you?" He stopped his tirade to catch a breath. Pierce held up a hand to forestall him.

"And was I wrong? You are one of the brightest stars on the planet, Captain, and she was an intern... your relationship was poorly matched to begin with, and you looking for her would have endangered her life and our investigation," Pierce said, his blue eyes hard. The words made Steve sick and he wanted to haul back and punch the other man.

"How the hell did a SHIELD-issued phone send me this photo then?" Steve slammed his fist down on the desk, shoving his phone across for Pierce to look at. It made him sick to share it, but he wanted to see Pierce's face, see his reaction. His gut was turning over, the sense of betrayal stinging worse than a fist to the gut. "I have a friend down in Requisitions. He said the phone belongs to one of your STRIKE teams, but beyond that the information is classified. So I figure, you tell me who the hell has my  _girl_ , or maybe I go flash and tinder right here, right now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really REALLY appreciate you amazing lovely people and your support of this little story. I know it's been a rough story to deal with, and it's been heartbreaking and sad and blahhh at times... but happier times are coming! I swear! AND FLUFF.


	15. Longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything he was, he'd left on that train. Right?

She slept heavy, for someone who'd been through what she'd been through. Bucky knew because he thudded across the safe house's living room while she curled on the couch, one arm slung over the edge of it.

Even with the noise of his boots over dusty carpet, she didn't move. It was if she trusted him. That thought made him ill. She shouldn't. He'd done monstrous things, been cheek by jowl with monsters. They'd remade him in their image: bone and steel, cartilage and murder.  He knew acutely how it felt to stab someone, gut them open, the resistance of skin and muscle, and then the pop as flesh gave way to his knife. Twist, shuddering drag, a scream, the smell of feces and vomit... if he closed his eyes for an instant, it came rushing back to him, burning up the back of his throat and into his nose.

And still, in the presence of a demon, Darcy Lewis slept like a child. Even when he edged over to her, his breath caught in his mouth, and he tentatively reached out hand to stroke over her curls, to gather up some of that softness for himself, she slept.

And slept.

And moaned in her sleep, rolled over, and slept some more.

Finally, a good eighteen hours later (he knew, he'd stared at her near the whole time), she lifted her head as the misty afternoon light pierced through the faded, flowered curtains.

"My mouth tastes like ass," she said, throat hoarse, and he was up on his feet, pouring her a glass of water. As she licked the liquid from her lower lip, the skin still dry and cracked, she looked up at him, hope in her eyes. "I don't think I had a single dream," she said.

He sighed and sat down on a chair opposite the couch.

"Wait. They'll come again," he said.


	16. Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve shows Brock who the man under the mask really is.

The door to his cell cracked open and Brock lifted his head, a smile slipping across his split lips.

"So they let you off your leash?" he asked.

Steve Rogers stood there, in a sleeveless black tanktop, and an old pair of jeans. He wore a pair of steeltoe boots. None of this boded well for Brock leaving his cell with all of his teeth in his mouth, but he figured he'd had a good run of it.

"Where is she?" Steve asked, staring down at the man who'd been connected to the obscene photos sent to him, betrayal humming away in his gut. Brock'd had his hands on Darcy. He'd done things to Darcy. Unspeakable things. Now Steve was going to make him hurt for every one of those things that Steve knew of, and for all the things he didn't.

"Your girl?" Brock asked with a hitch of his shoulders. "Might as well be honest, she's pretty much mine now-"

Steve's roar echoed through the room, and Brock's head hit the bars of his cell as Steve slammed the other man up against them.

"I asked. You answer. Where is she?" Steve's heart was bellowing in his ears so loud, he almost didn't hear Brock's low laugh.

"Pretty girl. Looks good when she comes. You wouldn't know that though."

The wet sound of Brock hitting the bars again sounded out, and Brock grunted, coughing. His chains scraped across the floor. Steve breathed, the scent of the antiseptic cleaner they'd used on the cell sticking to the roof of his mouth.

"One question. Where the fuck is Darcy?'

"Maybe a-ask me how many times I fu-"

Steve's vision went white and his fist connected once, twice, ten times, until Natasha was behind him, her cool voice breaking through the haze of his blind rage.

"They found his little love shack," she said. Brock made a choking noise as he slid to the ground, his legs giving out. Steve turned to look at her, the irritating feeling of Brock's blood on his skin making his face twitch. "She's not there. Jack Rollins was found, dead. Looks like Darcy was cleared out by someone who wasn't on friendly terms with him and Rumlow."

On the ground, Brock gave a wet gasping laugh, and then fell quiet when Steve slammed his booted foot into Brock's ribs with a dull crack.

"Steve," Natasha said. "Let's go."

A shudder rolled through his shoulders and he shook his head.

"In a minute," he said, lifting his foot up off the ground.


	17. Benign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If wishes were burgers.

"I could murder a cheeseburger," Darcy said, staring at the ceiling. It'd been days of playing cards, eating beans out of a can because neither of them felt like lighting the gas stove, and silent-sitting. Wherein they sat. In silence.

She wasn't proud of it, but she'd done a lot of crying. A lot of that. There was maybe a roll of toilet paper left in the safe house, the safe place, that Bucky had taken her to. He paced a lot, she noticed. He paced, and snuck out when he thought she was sleeping to do perimeter checks, but he was always, always back when she started to stir.

His presence had felt so light at first, like he was hovering on the outside of her sphere. Slowly, slowly, he was edging closer, hope in the tentative touch of his fingers along hers when he reached for the same card, or a worn, folded down smile in the corners of his lips and eyes.

But then he'd come in from the cold, settling down next to her on the couch, watching TV even, and laughing quietly at the slapstick comedy. Friends, it seemed, was a favourite of his.

She wasn't sure when it happened, further, when their relationship tipped sideways from _barely talking_ to  _friends_ to  _making out, his hand up her shirt_.

She just knew it happened.

"Bucky," she gasped out as he rolled her on top of him. They were sprawled out on the couch, his hand tracing whorls along her spine, and his mouth hot on hers.

"Darce," he groaned back as her nails scraped over his scalp, fingers running through his hair. It felt so good, his other arm holding her waist tight, but not so hard she felt trapped. His mouth was sweet, warm, with the hint of mint tea he'd been drinking and she chased it with her tongue. "Doll, Sweetheart,  _Kitten_.... I can't... you can't..." he stumbled over his words as she pressed her mouth to the side of his neck, biting softly.

This was freedom.

Touching him, wanting to touch him, knowing she could stop, or pull away at any second and he'd let her, he'd damn well encourage her.

Her heart soared-

"Sweetheart, you're Steve's... I can't..." his words broke over her like a smattering of cold rain water.


	18. Slipping Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a reward for all your kind comments.

"Whatever," Darcy said to herself, her sneakers hitting the gravel. The screen door banged loud behind her, and then screeched open again.

"Sweetheart-" Bucky tried, but she ignored him, huffing her shoulders and shoving her hands into her pockets. The jeans he'd gotten her were over-large, held up by his belt. She got to the edge of the driveway and turned, unbuckling it furiously, her fingers shaking. Bucky was approaching her, just on the edge of her peripheral vision.

"Stay away," she snapped as he got within five feet of her. She yanked the belt out of the loops that held it close to her body and threw the damn thing on the ground.

"Doll," he started, and then stopped, as she shoved her shoes off, then her socks, the jeans puddling around her feet. Her hands were shaking so hard by the time she got to her shirt, her vision going blurry with the rain.

But it wasn't raining, she thought absently. She smudged the wet from her cheeks with one forearm and glared at him.

"Don't even start with me," she said, voice full of glass, then turned, her bare feet screaming at her as the tiny pebbles and sharp rocks bit into the soft arch of her soles. She didn't want him on her skin, anything he'd given her, nothing, and as she walked she ripped the shirt from her body, letting it flutter to the ground behind her.

He was keeping pace with her, trailing just behind her, and she hated him, she  ** _hated_** him, with everything she had. One shuddery, hot breath after another flowed up her throat, through her nose, the rain still streaking down her cheeks, bare to the world 'cept for her bra and underwear and she did not fucking care.

She picked up speed, and her big toe caught on a bigger rock, and she went down with a cry, bending at the knee, curling up like she'd been punched in the gut.

"Don't touch me." She could feel him hovering, his anxiety like a thick blanket all down her back, a comfort she didn't want. She hiccuped in the rain for a good however the fuck long block of time, her shoulders shaking, and it wasn't until a real roll of thunder rocked the sky that she looked up.

Bucky didn't even have his eyes on her. Instead he was staring up at the sky, a frown on his face. He turned to her, and his expression had gone from concerned to dead. She rocked back on her heels.

"Get back in the house," he ordered, voice quiet. Another peal of thunder rang out, edged with a short, hot series of  _ratatatatata_ , and it wasn't a storm, but it was gunfire. Her body took over, twisting her up off the ground, and the gravel practically sang out under her bare feet as she bolted for safety, for their haven.

A storm was coming.


	19. Hurt Discomfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve makes another discovery.

The body had been moved. The pool of dried blood was still there, though, and Steve stepped around it.

"So," Natasha said as she looked around the drab living room. "This is where she was?"

"All those months," Steve said, his throat thick with self-hate. "She was half an hour from my apartment-"

His lungs. He couldn't  _breathe_. A million tingles ran over his skin and he wanted to punch something but there was nothing left...

A flash of pink caught his eye, and he sank to his knees in front of the couch. He hooked one finger around the small bit of leather and pulled it out, turning it over in his hands.

It was a collar. Meant for a human, not a dog, it had a locking snap at the back and the front two piece joined, wrapped around the edges of a thin metal worked into the shape of a heart.  
  
There was a single, long, dark curling hair caught in the snap.  
  
His fist came down around the heart, crushing it.

Behind him he heard Nat's radio crackle to life-Clint at the other end, murmuring something.

A hand closed over his shoulder.

"We've got reports of gunfire, and what look like SHIELD ground troops, out by North Tract. Only problem is, Fury didn't order them there, and we have no idea who deployed them," Natasha said, her words coming to him down a long echo chamber. He staggered to his feet, still holding onto the collar.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked, feeling hollow and filled up with grief at the same time. She stared at him unblinking.

"Let's go, soldier," she replied, turned, and walked out the door.

A shuddering breath shook his ribs and he swept one more look around the room.

Duty had kept him from Darcy, had made him complicit in her hurt and torture.  
  
He was getting damn tired of duty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss you guys like fire.


	20. Old Friend

"The hell is this?!" Steve, no, Captain America, because that's who he was with shield in one hand and cowl firmly pulled down on his head, demanded as he waded through another line of what should have been SHIELD soldiers, but clearly weren't because they were  _shooting_ at him.

"I've got your six, Cap. Fire down the road, at them. Falcon, is that you?" Natasha crackled in his ear piece.

"Negative. I'm over to the east, my heading's-" Sam's voice cut out with a grunt as another volley of fire sounded through the air. The park-like setting wasn't peaceful at all, Steve thought, and he wondered, as he slammed his shield, playing bowling pins with these rogue soldiers, what it would have been like to take Darcy there, lay out a blanket, picnic with her, watch her eat the sad excuse for sandwiches he would've prepared.

His throat squeezed, and a line of fire opened up along his bicep. He stared down at it, dazed. Blood streaked across his sleeve.

"We've got a friendly? Maybe?" Natasha didn't sound all that confident. "Cap, can you close in?"

"Sealing the deal," he muttered under his breath, and lunged at the man who'd shot him, ignoring the burning sensation of a bullet lodged in his arm. He'd deal with it later. He'd deal with them all, later.

He took off at a run, the ground behind him littered with the groaning, squirming bodies of the men and women who'd faced him down and lived to moan the tale. He could hear more gunshots, and as his boots scrambled, slipping on loose gravel over old cement, he turned a bend-

Steve hit the ground on both knees when  _Jesus, Mary an'_ - 

"Bucky?" he asked, heart pulsing in his ears.

It was Bucky. Standing there, semi-automatic in his hand, in an open button-down shirt that fluttered with the breeze, a pair of worn jeans, and a murderous look on his face. Given the downed bodies everywhere, there was a reason for it.

Bucky's blue eyes met his, and for a moment the world stopped.

Steve struggled, one foot, then the other hauling him off the ground as he stared long and hard at his old friend _lover_ friend.

A scream ripped through them both from behind Bucky. The noise was feminine and angry, followed by the sound of an engine roaring. Bucky whirled, without a word, and took off, his sneakers skimming the ground as if he could fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in buttfuck nowhere america please comment to make my life better because everything is fox news and MAGA hats here.
> 
> Also, pick A or B in your comment.
> 
> A - something happens.
> 
> B - something happens.
> 
> It's like choose your own adventure but you don't get to keep your finger on the last page! :D


	21. Losing Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody's back from the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for miss chrissi because she is amazing and people need to learn a lesson in not commenting with a "god when is this fic going to be updated" because that sucks.

She'd done like they'd practiced. Over, and over, and over until her knees had been bruised and she'd had splinters in the palms of her hands from crawling into the cupboard in the kitchen.

_Get in. Keep your head down. Don't make a noise._ _I'll take care of you._

And he was, she presumed, taking care of her. The amount of gunfire outside of their little cabin spoke of him  _taking care_ in a big way.

Too bad it wasn't enough.

She thought, at first, the footsteps were him, but when the cupboard door pulled open and _he_ smiled at her, her heart dropped.

"Hello there, baby-girl," Brock said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG you guys your comment, I cried happy tears like so much and you guys made waking up to a REALLY shitty situation while far away from home, totally awesome.
> 
> I love you. I loveyouIloveyouIloveyou.
> 
> Have a little B.
> 
> A to follow.


	22. It Is What It Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other option.

Brock was like a bad joke that kept being repeated at a shitty dinner party with no appetizers and only kale salad on offer.  
  


She hated him. She hated more, waking up in his car, groggy, blood sitting in the back of her throat.

She hated the most of all? She hated most of all the fact he had his fucking  _hand_ between her fucking  _legs_ , and he was trying to squirm into her panties with his fingers.

Rage flared through her body and she remembered Bucky, and everything he went through for her, everything he did to rescue her from Brock and his little Nazi buddies.

Bucky'd suffered for her, and she'd gone and gotten herself grabbed.

From the looks of things, thought the distant, passive, observant side of her brain, they weren't five minutes down the road.

Bucky'd hear her.

Bucky'd come for her.

She just had to stay alive. Stay alive and  _kill Brock Rumlow._

With an angry cry, she backhanded him across the face, startling him. He yanked his hand away and to the wheel.

"Fuckin' cunt," he snarled at her. Anger burned up the back of her mouth and into her nose, and she launched herself at him, tackling him across the car. Her arms wound around his neck, and she slammed her face into the side of his.

A flash of agony, and the roar of white noise in her ears followed the crack of her nose- _probably broken_ , and the car swerved. Brock's foot hit the brakes, and they fish-tailed across the gravel. She bit down hard on his cheek, drawing blood, feeling the flesh of his face give away, and she scratched wildly at his eyes as he tried to keep them on the road.

"Bitch!" he roared, and then the air left his lungs as hers.

They hit something, and the world turned upside down, then right side up, then upside down-

The black took her, and the last thing she tasted was his blood on her tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH LOOK AN UPDATE. I WONDER HOW THAT HAPPENED.


	23. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *snugs* you are the best bug in the rug and i would hug you even if you were a slug.

Waking up was painful.

"Doll. Sweetheart," the words were an urgent buzz in her ear. Bucky's scent, wintergreen and crisp linens, filled her nose. An arm was cradling her against the solid warmth of his chest, and she shivered. Her back hurt. Not _ow_ -ow, just ow. She squirmed and the arm around her gripped her tighter.

"That hurts," she mumbled. The chest under her cheek moved, a shuddering, jagged laugh erupting from it.

"No shit, Doll," he said. The world was rocking, and she opened her eyes. Green blazed around them. Bucky was hauling her up a steep slope, his feet digging into the dirt, roots, and rocks. Despite the uneven ground, he never faltered.

"I'm alive though," she said, protesting that he would  _laugh_ at her for being in pain after... something... something? had happened. A flash of Brock across her memory, and she shivered. The car. His hands. "Is it over?"

"Dunno," Bucky said, a ripple of gun fire breaking the air in the distance. "Rumlow's deader than anything though, small miracles. He broke your fall."

"And I broke him. Good," she said, eyes shutting. "Good."

It seemed like too much effort to say anything more than that, and she clung to him, soaking in his heat, her aching back muscles grumbling with displeasure.

Brock was dead. Bucky was here. Shots were being fired, but that wasn't her problem.

Bucky grunted as they surfaced to the road, and she heard the skidding of footsteps. She opened her eyes.

Steve's face swam before her, and she swallowed, sitting up in Bucky's embrace. Steve's lips parted, he was saying something, and his arms went out to her, and then fell back to his sides. He took a step back, guilt, self-loathing, shuttering over his face like a shadow.

Steve.  _Steve._

Her heart palpated in her chest, and she thrust herself out of Bucky's grip so quickly he nearly dropped her. She was across the gravel in a split second, throwing herself at Steve,  her arms out wide, and he was reaching back for her. He crushed her against his chest, and she cried, hiccuped into the fabric covering his skin, gripping at him, sobbing.

He shook against her just as hard, the warm-wet of his tears slipping down onto her forehead. He was whispering into the shell of her ear, begging her to forgive him.

She pressed her fingers against his lips and after he went silent, she reached up, and kissed him.


	24. Run and Cover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the beginning of the end.

There were times to stay and finish a fight. Normally Steve was down with finishing any fight, even if it meant he got knocked down and had to get up again a few times or twenty.

But having Darcy, finally,  _Darcy_ , wrapped up in his arms and kissing him changed things.

He didn't want to fight. He wanted to run.

Bucky's feet crunched across the leaves and gravel as he approached him.

"Area's getting hot," he said, voice rough. "Better move out now, if you want to keep her safe."

Darcy made a noise, turning in Steve's arms, and he felt her pulse flutter under his fingers where he had a hand wrapped around her wrist. He wanted to pull her into him and keep her safe. Forever.

But Bucky's words gave him pause, and Steve stumbled over them, staring at his best friend, trying to drink him in, feel him out.

A fresh crackle of gunfire had Darcy tensing against Steve and he made a decision.

"Not going anywhere without you," he said. Bucky blinked, slow-like, as if he hadn't understood. But Steve did understand, he understood full-well what was going on between Darcy, and Bucky, even if Steve didn't have the full measure of them. He  _knew_ what love looked like, and if the words hadn't been spelt out in kisses and vocalized breathing, well...

There was time for that.

For all three of them.

Away, somewhere safe, somewhere private, somewhere...

_whump._

Trees a score of yards down the road went up in smoke and hot flame and Steve turned Darcy immediately, shoving her behind him, grip firm on her wrist. Bucky shifted, coming shoulder-to-shoulder with him, cutting Darcy off from the heat the explosion was throwing in all directions. She was quiet, not making a sound, and so still against Steve's back that it turned his heart to ice. She should've been screaming, or crying, given all that she'd been through in the day, and it made him ache that whatever horror she'd seen had turned her numb to  _this_ kind of violence

"Got a truck, down the road," Bucky said, urgency in his voice, and he tried to shove the keys into Steve's hand.

"Don't be stupid, pal," Steve said, shaking his head and starting to walk backwards, Darcy moving with him, "you know I don't got a license."

Bucky hesitated for a moment, but then Darcy popped out from under Steve's arm, reaching her hand out.

"Please, Buck," she said.


	25. No Choice

He could never say no to her.

She looked at him with those liquid blue eyes and begged him to go with them, and he was already gone.

"Alright," he breathed out, and she folded herself up against him. He looked at Steve,  _Steve_ , who was gazing back at him like everything he'd ever wanted was standing in front of him. "Let's bug out."

Steve nodded.

"Take her," he said, and Bucky complied, picking Darcy up without a thought, slinging her into his arms and against his chest. She gasped, one hand going to warp around his bicep.

Heat blazed behind them as another tree went up, glory and fire all at once. The gravel spat out from under their shoes as they matched, pace for pace, a sprint to where the truck, and a hope at freedom, waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there good lookin'


	26. Nowhere

If you lined up all the cars they'd swapped in and out of over the first week, Darcy was sure they'd at least encircle a McDonald's parking lot. She slept a lot, curled into Bucky's chest, her head tucked up under his chin. Seatbelts were nothing to the wicked weapon straight out of Siberia that was his arm.

Steve kept giving her morose, self-hating looks, that made her want to scream at him.

But she didn't have the words. Her voice had run itself dry under Brock's 'tender mercies' and then the soft communication that had passed between her and Bucky when he'd rescued her.

So she waited, in the quiet, until one day the two geriatric superbros dropped her off at a safehouse while she slept and she woke up, alone, and terrified.

She threw open the door, confronted with light spilling out onto a verdant valley. The little shack was near the edge of the cliff so beautiful it'd make an angel cry.

Except Darcy was no angel, not even close, not after all she'd seen and done...

She toed up to the edge of the rock, wondering if it was worth it, to try to get better, to see hope in Steve's eyes, and affection in Bucky's.

Her heart was like a giant gaping maw, threatening to swallow her whole.

It was easier, probably, to just jump.


	27. Spit and Gravel and Other Good Things

Steve's hand on his. Fingers trailing up, up, up, to the crook of his good elbow, dragging along the skin.

"All the work you do, and no callouses, it's not fuckin' fair," Bucky found himself saying. Steve chuckled, and shifted over on the bench seat of the truck, pressing into his side like he had a  _right_ to be there. The warmth radiating off of the other man made Bucky sigh, and he tried not to swerve on the road. The back seat of the truck was filled with groceries, piled high, to fatten up their girl, make her whole again in a way that good food ought to.

"You think we're good to stay here for a few weeks? I don't like moving her so much," Steve said. Bucky grunted. Every time they did, every time they got out on the open road, Darcy was stiff and nervous, eyes wild like she was certain someone was chasing her down and about to grab her by the throat.

He hated it. He hated knowing he'd had a part in putting that expression on her, although he knew abstractly, it wasn't any part of his fault.

"A few weeks, at least. Any further off the grid and we'd be off the damn map," he said, turning onto the logging road, the gravel going flying as clouds of dust spat up under their wheels. Steve sighed and inched even closer. They were silent, the cab creaking as the road turned steep and worn-in, giant boulders passing by as the trees reached spiny, green-feather fingers out toward them.

Another corner, and the cabin emerged, the sun dying on the horizon. Cutting across it was the shadow-blot of Darcy's form.

"What?" Steve breathed, and then slammed the cab door open before Bucky could hit the brakes.


End file.
